


Complaints and Connections

by Nenagh24 (EverFascinated)



Series: Fictober 2020 [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale pack, Alternate Universe, Fictober 2020, First Meetings, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, One Shot, Steter Week 2020, Supernatural creatures are known, Werewolf Conferences & Conventions, convention au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26889376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverFascinated/pseuds/Nenagh24
Summary: As head of security, Peter deals with a lot of problems throughout the duration of Creature Con and he knows how common it is to hear complaints from attendees about the newer vendors, especially ones with names likeStartin Somethin'. However, he hasn't gotten this far by taking others at their word and this seems like the perfect opportunity to get a feel for the people running the stall. Stilinski and Martin, is it?
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Fictober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947883
Comments: 25
Kudos: 425





	Complaints and Connections

"You're telling me I have to pay for this too?"

The question isn't much louder than the dull roar of the crowd around him, but the heated tone is enough to get Peter's attention. Pausing to the side of one of the many support beams littering the large room, he tilts his head to see if he can pinpoint it.

"Yes I did," came the slightly flat response. "What about it?"

The challenging question loosely draped in a customer service voice made Peter snort. 

"Do you know how much this convention has cost me already? First the ticket, then the travel and hotel, now an overpriced _scent blocker_?! They won't even let me in any of the larger rooms without one of these stupid things!" 

Ah, another one of these people. Based on the topic, the man is most likely near the entrance to the convention hall. After taking a moment to ensure his tie is straight and his jacket is spotless, Peter starts winding his way through the attendees towards the disturbance.

This is the fifth annual conference and it seems like some people still can't read the fine print when they register.

Through the swiftly parting crowd Peter can see the back of a tall man whose posture reads 'threat'. Hands on hips, wide stance, expensive shoes far too close to the sneakered sales associate in front of them.

A white gloved hand appears from behind the angry man's bulk to point at a poster on display in front of the booth.

"Sir, it was clearly stated on the website and the conditions you agreed to when you signed up." The line is practiced, but the underlying exasperation is clear. "You need to bring your own, buy one here, or rent one. These aren't complementary because there was an option to add one to the total cost."

Slowing slightly, Peter swings wide to get a better look at the two of them.

The angry man is huffing and puffing, face red under his full beard. He's dressed professionally with high-end labels prominently on display, but it's the little things that out him as someone who is trying too hard to look important. His watch is a knock off, the suit jacket isn't fitted, and he's uncomfortable in the dress shirt if the intermittent tugs he makes are anything to go by.

Standing less than a meter away, the amber eyed vendor looks somewhere between bored and annoyed as he points to the printed registration page.

"'You need to bring your own, buy one at the event, or rent one.' Like I said, they aren't complementary because they have an option to add one to the total cost. It says it right here." He turns to tap the enlarged printout which lets Peter read the _Startin Somethin'_ logo on the man's t-shirt, matching the banner hanging across the table behind him. 

It also lets him see exactly how done the freckled man is with the conversation. Peter knows because he's worn that expression himself more than a few times already this week.

"Well, they should be free for-"

"If you feel that this is in error," cutting in over the blustering man, voice still mostly calm with only the slightest edge of annoyance bleeding through, the vendor sweeps his hand from the board to line of doors leading back out of the convention hall, "you can check with the registration office."

The man flushes further, fists clenching.

That would be his cue.

An intimidating step forward is followed swiftly by a meaty hand reaching out to the visibly unimpressed vendor. It's hard to tell if the attendee wants to grab or prod the casually dressed man, but it doesn't matter in the end.

Peter gets there first.

Catching the advancing arm by the wrist, Peter smoothly inserts himself between the two.

"Is there a problem here?" He asks as neutrally as possible.

The man in front of him freezes, though it's hard to tell whether it's from Peter's sudden appearance or his effortlessly strong grip. Peter takes that moment of hesitation to glance back at the vendor. 

The vendor that hadn't flinched in the face of whatever was coming his way and is only now taking a step back to give Peter a little room. As he watches, the man's eyes flash gold in time with a charm pinned to his lanyard. 

Ready for what was coming then? 

A twitch of a smile joins the small nod of thanks the pretty brunette gives him before they both look back at the angry man in front of them.

The man, one George Keen if the badge hanging from his lanyard is anything to go by, curls a lip at Peter's generic 'Security' badge. Too slowly to not be noticed, the man wipes the sneer from his face to replace it with one that really showcases that superiority complex he has.

"Yes, there is." George answers snootily as he looks down his nose at the two of them. He goes to put his fists back on his hips only to pause when Peter doesn't release his wrist. Another tug fails to break his grip or even gain any acknowledgement from him other than a bland smile.

Peter watches George swallow before acting like it didn't bother him and feels his smile become slightly more genuine. And possibly a little more sharklike as the man's pulse picks up under his fingers.

"And what would that be?"

"This charlatan is forcing me to pay for a scent blocker when it should be free!" His arm jerks in Peter's steely hold. George frowns before using his free hand to point at the vendor once again.

Glancing back at the accused, Peter is amused when the lanky man simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. He winks back in reply, face turned enough that George can't see it. He sees the man, Stilinski if he's wearing the right the vendor ID on his own lanyard, raises his brows in return before Peter has to turn back to the haughty sniffing man in his grasp.

"So you've already paid?" Peter asks, pulling a concerned look onto his face.

"Exactly!" Comes the triumphant reply.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Mr. Keen." Contrite, Peter uses the hold he has on his wrist to start guiding him out of the hall. "We'll have to get that sorted out at registration then."

"What? No!" Digging in his heels, George tries to politely fight Peter's hold ineffectually. "I mean, I wouldn't want to bother them again. Surely, one of these would be enough?"

"Oh, no, we couldn't do that." Peter corrects him, pretending not to notice those fancy shoes scrabbling for purchase on the carpeted floor. "For one, we'd be requisitioning one of their fine products for no reason. For another, the tickets that come with the blockers are always part of larger packages."

"Really, I don't mind-" 

"Registration owes you a tee-shirt, sir." Grin widening, Peter ignores his protests and pulls him through the doors. "And your badge must have been printed in error as every bundle comes with a Premium registration which should improve your chances of finding seating in sessions."

"I-is that so?" Grimacing, George finally allows himself to be dragged to the help center where Laura is commanding her minions.

She spots them coming and raises a brow at her uncle. His grin goes a bit fangy in response. A customer service smile sharper than any knife or claw jumps to her face as she moves to greet them at the counter.

"What can I help you with?"

If George wants to be a problem, he can pay for the privilege first.

* * *

It is always so satisfying when he meets someone just as petty as he is. Well, if that short interaction can be called a meeting.

Stiles watches them go with a smug smile on his face. Almost involuntarily, his eyes slip back down to admire how Mr. Security's very nice black slacks make his -

"If you're done drooling, maybe you can come back here and help me restock." 

Staring after them a moment longer just to spite her, Stiles then sighs and turns back to the booth. The booth that looks surprisingly empty for their first day of the conference.

"Wow, I knew CreCon West was big, but this is..." Something else. Busy he expected, even the smaller conventions got some foot traffic. But this? This is a windfall for their little startup. 

"About a third were 'accidental'." Her look speaks volumes and he checks the table again. 

The open spaces are tellingly close to their large 'Don't Touch' signs which do everything but shout the message in multiple languages. He returns her look with interest and shakes his head, ducking down to pull out another box.

"You'd think that people attending a Creature Convention would understand 'Look, Don't Touch'." Not only are there signs littering the table, but both of them wore white gloves to handle everything. It baffles Stiles how unobservant some people are.

"Some of these people were literally raised in the wild. It's a wonder that they learned to read at all, let alone find an internet connection to register for the convention." Lydia points out before finishing her end of the table and reaching for his box. Shooing him away again, she reminds him of his job like he hasn't been doing it all day. "Now, look sharp. You'll want to scan as many badges as you can even if they don't make a purchase."

Pulling his phone out of his pocket he jiggles it near his face with a painfully fake smile.

"So we can bug them later with merch," he replies, sugary sweet before a spare piece of cardboard gets tossed in his direction. He dodges it, but only barely. "Watch it! People are walking here!"

Well, no one but the other booth attendants are close enough to hit right now, but that's to be expected. 

Clicking on his phone, he checks the time. Just two more hours until the hall closes and then they can get it ready for tomorrow before calling it a night.

Stiles raises his hands above his head to try and stretch his back only to spot a con goer walking down the aisle.

"Hey there! Looking for a charm, cantrip, or scent blocker? Well, look no further, my friend!"

* * *

"One day down, three to go!"

Peter snorts from his computer, tucked into a corner of the back room they'd claimed as their office space for the duration of the convention.

"Seconded." A muffled Derek pipes in from his place on the floor. After a day of managing and assisting the small setup crew, his nephew is probably just as worn out as Peter.

"Don't be such a baby." Prodding her sibling, Cora sniffs at his half hearted swipe that missed her by a mile.

With a sigh, Laura looks away from her own laptop to lightly scold her sibling.

"Not all of us got to do their work before the convention started, Cora."

"Sucks to be you then, doesn't it?" She retorts. It takes a couple careful steps to make it to the door without crushing anything important, but Cora manages with just one big 'oof' from her brother. "I'm going to tonight's attendee mixer, see you there if you ever get done!"

Derek grimaces, finally sitting up to rub at his back. He opens his mouth to say something before pausing. The door shuts behind her without him making any sort of retort.

After giving his nephew another moment to pull himself together, Peter pointedly raises a brow at him. 

The younger man gives him a sheepish smile in return.

"I was going to complain, but my back actually feels better now." Smile falling into a confused face, he then asks the room at large, "Am I getting old?"

"No." Not one of the others still in the room even hesitates to contradict the younger man.

If he is old at twenty two, what would that make them?

"If you're that tired, then go take a nap on the couch in the green room." Talia says, still shaking her head at his question. Her son makes a face at that.

"I'm just a bit sore," he assures her. "What I could really go for is some food."

Beside his wife, Nathan gives Derek a long suffering look.

"You're not being subtle," he comments blandly, before admitting, "The untouched catering meals are in prep room three."

"Yes!" Rolling to his heels, Derek bounds for the door, leaping over some equipment on his way. "Thanks Dad!"

"And then there were four." Laura cracks from her workstation.

"Two, actually." Corrects Talia, standing and offering her husband a hand up. "I'd like to get some dinner of my own before sending out all those scheduling reminders to tomorrow's guest speakers."

Accepting it, Nathan gives a cheery wave on their way out the door.

"Must be nice," Laura mutters and takes a sip of her tea. How she can stand it lukewarm Peter will never know.

"Delegation is one of the benefits of having a pack." He offers blandly before focusing on the last of his work.

Security schedules are set with the one call out being filled. No abnormally large incidents today barring the Incubus-Succubus kerfuffle just before lunch and he's already gotten that one sorted with additional protocols filled out for any future issues along that line. The night shift is scheduled to get on shift in about two hours.

All that's left is the worst and best part.

Complaints.

He doesn't get all of them of course, but he does get any that involve security or the booths in the main hall. Another shining example of Talia's delegations.

They're all the usual complaints. Some came from the attendees and some from the vendors themselves.

He starts with the ones related to security, both to and from. Thankfully there aren't many, especially from his staff. The few complaints he does look over are resolved easily with just a couple of final sign offs needed.

The vendor ones are both more and less interesting. Less because there were always the usual complaints - overcharges, noise issues with nearby booths, faulty merchandise - but also more because there was a certain drama to all of the vendors. Competitors complaining about one another even though they are placed at separate ends of the hall, old employees trying to get their previous bosses in trouble, with all the old grudges between creatures coming out in the craziest ways.

He chuckles his way through a report by a druid on how terrible vampires are for their booth's aura before handing it over to Laura and starting a quick analysis on the data as a whole.

Security doesn't have enough for any real trends, but there are a few attendees who seem to have a high report rate. He flags them for follow up. Probably not malicious, but good to keep in mind. Frequent reporters are often helpful in his experience, but every once in a while someone abuses the system.

Overall, most vendors only have two or three complaints against them, which is about what he expected. However, there is one that stands out with seven of the same kind of complaints in one day.

"I'm headed out. You okay to lock up?" Laura asks, shutting her computer and stretching.

Peter glances up at her tired face before nodding and returning to his work.

"Great, because I'm pooped." Picking her way across the room towards the door, she gives him a casual salute. "Goodnight, Uncle Peter. See you too early in the morning."

"Goodnight." He replies distractedly.

A couple clicks reveals that the shop didn't get a single vendor to vendor complaint to go with all the attendee to vendor ones. It takes just a moment for him to place the names associated. He's not sure who Lydia Martin is, but that vendor from earlier was named Stilinski wasn't he? Looks like his first name is 'Stiles', most likely a nickname.

Peter hums and checks the clock in the corner of his screen. Only seven thirty.

Shutting the lid of his laptop, he stands and makes for the door. 

The vendor mixer was still going on. Maybe he'll be able to catch one of them and see why they've denied service to so many attendees if he was lucky.

* * *

Mixers always sound so great on the pamphlets, but in reality they are _really_ boring.

Covering a yawn with one hand, Stiles lets his eyes roam the room without meeting anyone else's gaze for more than a moment. Maybe if he was in a different field these things would be more interesting, but as a magic user he isn't going to find anyone here willing to teach him anything worth knowing for free.

He's not really sure why he agreed to come.

Well, that's a lie.

Lydia asked him to earlier and he's always been a sucker when it comes to her even after they both agreed that they did better as friends.

At least _she's_ having a good time. She was off being wined and dined by a couple of other vendors on the other side of the room, currently laughing with a nearly unnoticeably calculating look in her eye. Stiles suspects that they're going to go home with at least a few more lucrative deals after tonight. That would be a nice cherry on top of their sales.

What isn't nice is the headache he can feel sneaking up on him from lack of food.

Putting a hand to his growling stomach, Stiles eyes the buffet table again. Why can't they supply some food to go with all this alcohol? A couple of olives and crackers just isn't going to cut it tonight. Not after he skipped lunch earlier.

He sends Lydia a quick text letting her know he's stepping out to find food before slipping out the closest door.

After the hustle and bustle of the convention hall all day, walking around the nearly empty yet expansive hallways is a little surreal. He hums to himself as he wanders down to where he saw a vending machine earlier that day. It doesn't take long to find it but the contents are more than a little disappointing.

Decision time. 

To have not-great, only kind of expensive food from the vending machine or better definitely expensive food from some of the food stalls that were still open this late? Hmm. 

He pulls out his phone. Maybe there's something okay within walking distance? Could he make it before the looming hunger headache becomes blinding?

"You can't seriously be thinking of buying anything from that?" 

Startled, Stiles nearly drops his phone. He scrambles to catch it, barely managing to do so before it hits the ground. Phone safe in his hands, he lets out a sigh of relief before turning to level a glare at the person who spooked him.

"What?" The question ends there as he recognizes Mr. Security from before. Mr. Security of the very nice, very expensive fitted suit. Stiles huffs out a laugh. "Not all of us can afford anything better, dude."

"Money troubles?" He asks, sauntering up to stop beside Stiles presumably to better judge his life choices if the frown he gives the vending machine's contents is anything to go off of. "Why turn away so many customers if you need their business?"

That's-

Stiles turns, eyes narrowing. Suddenly it all clicks.

Fancy suit, similar features, no name tag, a missing picture on the convention's website, same-day inside information on the vendors.

"Peter Hale, I presume?" He guesses, raising a brow at the handsome man.

A surprised look bleeds into a smug grin as the other man nods.

"And you must be Stiles." Peter offers in return.

"Got it in one." He finger-guns before turning back to the vending machine with a sigh. They really don't look appetizing. Running a hand along his neck, he looks back at Peter who is still watching him closely. "Look, we're just starting out, but that doesn't mean we give out free samples, alright?"

The hum he receives is non-committal at best, but the look that goes with it is more openly curious than judgmental. 

Stiles hesitates before giving in. He wants to bitch about this anyway.

"A lot of our work is user specific and the best way to attune them it is through touch activated. Some assholes like to come up and grab the stuff off the table and then get mad when we say they have to buy it." His eyes roll so hard that he feels like he nearly strains something, but it's just that hunger headache setting in judging by the pain building at his temples. Rubbing at them to try and stave off the worst of it, he continues, "Not to mention the idiots who can't read the rental agreements for the scent blockers that _aren't_ touch bound. Five miles is plenty of leeway and we even have a big annoying warning signal that goes off if the blocker gets within a quarter mile of the edge, so that's their own fault."

"That answers most of my questions then." Peter says, nodding. He then raises a hand before hesitating. "May I?"

May he what? Peter doesn't seem malicious so much as petty and that has only benefitted the both of them so far. Plus, Stiles is pretty much warded to hell and back in preparation for this event so unless it can bring all of them down in one fell swoop whatever it is shouldn't be anything he can't handle.

Looking at he steady hand and then back those piercing blue eyes, Stiles gives a cautious nod, face a bit wary.

"I guess. What are you going to-" Fingers brush along his temple and his words catch in his throat as those eyes burn blue. The press of the fingers only makes his sudden lack of headache more apparent, but their pressure fades quickly and the hand slowly slips from his face. 

Does werewolf healing always cause heart palpitations?

His face feels like it's burning from the touch and it takes him a moment to realize that he's actually flushing and not just remembering the feel of Peter's fingers against his cheek. Stiles swallows a little thickly and tries to ignore it.

"Uh, thanks." He clears his throat and scrambles for a topic. "You said that was just most of your questions?"

Still watching him intently, Peter gives a smug smile which Stiles scowls at.

"Well?" He pushes. The werewolf could at least pretend to not see his stupid reactions to the favor!

"Would you like to go out for dinner?"

Stiles' stomach takes a dive, swooping around in a manner that has nothing to do with food or the lack thereof.

Now there's an idea.

He lets himself admire the fit of that suit once again, more obviously this time. It's nice alright, but he definitely likes that intent look in Peter's eyes even more.

"I could eat." Stiles admits in what he hopes is a casual voice. "What did you have in mind?"

The grin he gets in return is downright predatory.

* * *

It's nearly noon the next day when Peter finally finds enough time between managing the security hiccups that always happen at these things to walk by the _Startin Somethin'_ booth. The argument he hears isn't as loud as the one from yesterday and this new attendee decides they're done arguing with Stiles' posters with highlighted agreements on them before he even reaches them. 

Peter waits just long enough for the attendee to slink away with their wounded pride before asking.

"Does this happen often?" 

Stiles nods, obviously used to this behavior from his time working at smaller conventions as they worked up their credibility to get a spot here.

"That's why I'm the booth babe, dude."

He snaps his fingers into those ridiculous finger-guns to go with the exaggerated wink he gives Peter.

"So that Miss Martin doesn't have to lecture idiots?" Peter guesses.

"So that you don't get twice the complaints we already get, each of them with tearstained faces."

The smile Lydia throws in their direction at that statement is beautiful and terrifying in turns. Peter eyes it for a moment before looking Stiles over once again, slowly taking in his tussled hair, his decaled tee-shirt, and scuffed sneakers before trailing back up to meet those amber eyes.

"See something you like?" Stiles asks, waggling his eyebrows.

"I'm not complaining," admits Peter before throwing out the pointed endearment with a smirk, " _babe_."

And because Stiles isn't an idiot, he groans and pushes Peter away, because he is never going to let that nickname die.

**Author's Note:**

> It's late again because I don't like posting things without editing, but I also need sleep on work days so no midnight posting for me.
> 
> Also, canonical ages? I don't know them. Everyone is aged up except for when they're aged down (ie Peter and Stiles are both adults, but the age gap is smaller because I said so)
> 
> Fictober Prompt: yes I did, what about it?
> 
> Steter Week Prompt: Convention/Symposium
> 
> Startin Somethin' inspired by mashing their last names together when they were dating and Stiles finding it hilarious even after they broke up


End file.
